


Talk to Me, Barton

by seekeronthepath



Series: Tower Tales [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (very), Asexual Clint Barton, Asexual Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, M/M, Pre-Avengers (2012), Slow Burn, all the phlint feels, as long as you ignore what's about to happen in the Avengers movie anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 20:16:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15670521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekeronthepath/pseuds/seekeronthepath
Summary: For more than a decade before he joined the Avengers, Clint Barton was an agent of SHIELD. And for almost all of that time, Phil Coulson was his handler. This is the story of their relationship.





	Talk to Me, Barton

Clint Barton, known to those in the business as 'Hawkeye', was _very_ good at what he did. While selective about his targets, he was a generalist, and didn't turn his nose up at any kind of work. Courier, bruiser, intimidator, infiltrator...he'd do it all. But what he was best at was being a sniper. Hawkeye was the shot in the dark that never missed - and there were plenty of people who'd tried and failed to disprove that claim. He was a hundred percent reliable... _if_ he agreed with what you were doing. If not, better not to hire him at all. (He'd been known to sabotage the efforts of employers he disliked.) He'd made enemies, of course, and was on the hit lists of both legitimate and not-so-legitimate organisations. But that came part and parcel with the work, and he never seemed to care. Appearances meant a lot, in his line of work.

In 2001, SHIELD caught up to him. It was probably inevitable that one of the alphabet agencies would have found him, but it was still damn annoying. He'd _liked_ this bar. But the problem with being a mercenary was that, in order to get work, people had to be able to _find_ you. And sometimes the wrong people found you.

This guy was kind of impressive though, Clint admitted to himself as he mentally flicked through potential exit strategies. He had the outward look of an office worker getting a beer after a hard day, but Clint would eat his arm guards if he didn't have _serious_ combat training. And...(Clint looked closer)...at least two guns on him.

 

"Hello, Mr Barton," the man said blandly when he reached Clint's table in the corner, setting down two (unopened) bottles of beer. In one of Clint's preferred brands. Which Clint had seen the bartender give him. Clint weighed things up, and decided he really _wasn't_ interested in playing the Sicilian from Princess Bride. He shrugged, and snagged one of the bottles.

"Hi," Clint said bluntly, getting out the Swiss army knife he generally carried. A bottle opener was a wonderful excuse to have a blade at hand. "Want me to open yours for you, Agent...?"

The man smiled slightly. "Thank you, Mr Barton. And it's Coulson. Of SHIELD."

Clint sighed. "At least it's not the CIA. That would just be embarrassing."

Coulson's smile seemed to get a little warmer, and the corners of his eyes crinkled a little as he took a sip of his beer.

"So, is this a 'come with me if you want to live' situation, or...?" Clint asked, glancing at the door. "Should I expect a SWAT team?"

"Actually, we'd like to hire you," Coulson said blandly.

Clint tried very hard to keep his surprise off his face. "Since when does SHIELD hire contractors?"

Coulson shook his head. "No, we'd like to hire you permanently."

Now, Clint had gotten a few long-term job offers over the years, so even while part of his brain was stuttering in surprise, his mouth managed to say: "I have stipulations."

Coulson nodded. "I'd be surprised if you didn't." Carefully telegraphing his movements, he reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. "This is our standard contract for incoming agents. I'm authorised to negotiate some modifications, but this is the starting place."

 

The contract was...look, Clint probably would have taken it for the guaranteed free health care alone. He made sure to read it properly, though, even though working through the legalistic wording did his head in. There were a few sticking points, unsurprisingly. "I have to go to baby agent school?" he said skeptically.

"There'll be units you can test out of," Coulson told him. "You're not the first person we've...cross-recruited, if you like. But yes, there are certain baselines we expect all agents to reach, and SHIELD Academy is how we do that."

"And I won't get to do anything useful until I do?" Clint asked. "You're gonna be wasting a lot of money on me, Coulson."

"How so?" Coulson asked, his face giving nothing away.

Clint tapped the page. "Academic requirements." Honestly, the thought of sitting in a room with a bunch of college graduates and discussing international law and politics made his skin crawl.

Coulson hummed, eyeing Clint thoughtfully. "Is that your only objection?"

"Do I have to do a background check?" Clint asked. "Because I won't pass."

"You've already passed," Coulson told him, "or I wouldn't be making the offer. We're not going to ask you to disclose anything we don't already know, unless you're aware of a conflict of interest."

Clint nodded, then hesitated. His 'moral hangups', as he'd heard them called once, had been the problem with every long-term job he'd ever had.

Coulson watched patiently. "Talk to me, Barton," he said quietly. "We _want_ to work with you. Help me make that happen."

Clint paused a moment longer, then said, "I want right of refusal on my missions."

Coulson raised his eyebrows. "Is there a type of work you'd rather not do?" he asked. "Because we can put that on your file. A number of agents are unavailable for honeypot missions, for example."

"Yeah, put me on that list," Clint said, but he shook his head. "I want right of refusal on targets, not techniques. I know I'm never going to be a saint, but I want to at least be doing the dirty work that's on the side of angels."

"Are you a religious man, Mr Barton?" Coulson asked, watching him steadily.

Clint snorted. "God's got no time for me, so I've got no time for him. Turn of phrase, that's all."

Coulson nodded. "I take your point," he said. "SHIELD _does_ generally attempt to be 'on the side of angels', as you put it. Would having access to the intel we use to pick our targets be useful?"

"Only if I can actually do something with it," Clint pointed out.

"Hmm."

 

Coulson thought about it for a while, then got out a pen and turned to the blank back page of the contract. "Here's what I can offer you: right of refusal on two missions per month, where another agent is available, the situation is not an emergency, and the mission is not priority one. Is that acceptable?"

That was...actually pretty generous. Clint thought it over. "I can work with that," he decided. He'd just pretend he really needed to make rent, that's all. "What about the other stuff?"

"One moment," Coulson said, then wrote down the conditions he'd listed. In _scarily_ neat handwriting. "Alright. Regarding your academic concerns: can you explain the issue more clearly? Do you perform poorly in a classroom learning environment? We can arrange for alternatives."

"The last time I was _in_ a 'classroom learning environment' I was eight," Clint said bluntly.

Now Coulson was the one who looked surprised. "I see," he replied. "We... Our estimate was somewhere between fourteen and sixteen."

"D'you see why I think me catching up to the college graduates is gonna take a while?" Clint pointed out. "It might be years."

Coulson nodded. "We _will_ want you to invest that time," he warned. "But you're right that it would be a waste of your talents to keep you entirely out of the field while you do."

"Is it really worth it?" Clint asked. "Me studying? I do fine as it is."

"Of course you do," Coulson said briskly. "But you haven't got to your level without taking every opportunity to improve your skills. This is the same."

Coulson's confidence in Clint's...everything...was almost shocking. "So, uh, how is this going to work, then?"

"I suggest a six-month intensive training period, focused on assessment and certification of your existing skills and knowledge, and priority on units that are essential for field readiness," Coulson replied after a moment. "After that we can classify you as a Specialist, which means you'll be assigned to missions that match your specific skills rather than general missions. You'll have limited input at the strategic and tactical level, though."

"So...you'll be using me as a point-and-shoot sniper until I can prove I know what I'm doing?" Clint translated.

"I'm afraid so," Coulson said. "However, once you're in the field with SHIELD teams, official status means less than it does on paper. I'm sure you'll find plenty of opportunities to make use of _all_ your skills."

Clint rolled his eyes. "You mean that everything goes to shit once it's on the ground, so if you're helpful, no-one gives a shit."

 

The corner of Coulson's lips quirked, and Clint congratulated himself on making the man react. "Does that mean you agree to those terms?"

"That I get six months of cramming before I go in the field, then I get to certify my brain on my off-days until I've reached a 'baseline' agent level?" Clint clarified. "I can work with that. As long as people aren't expecting me to know shit I don't, I can live with it."

Coulson nodded, satisfied, and made another careful note on the back page of the contract. "Do you have any other concerns?"

"Do I get to keep my bow?" Clint asked.

"Yes."

"Are you going to kill me if I quit?"

"No, barring special circumstances."

"Do I have to change my nickname?"

"Sign the damn contract, Barton."


End file.
